


Life is absurd and cannot be an end

by feyrelay



Series: Call Me By Your Name Fix-It [2]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017)
Genre: Bottom Oliver, Fix-It, M/M, Outtakes, Post-Canon, Role Reversal, Short & Sweet, Smut, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:47:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22338022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feyrelay/pseuds/feyrelay
Summary: The smutty outtake that ultimately didn't quite fit intoWithin me there lay an invincible summer.
Relationships: Oliver/Elio Perlman
Series: Call Me By Your Name Fix-It [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1607935
Comments: 11
Kudos: 90





	Life is absurd and cannot be an end

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Within me there lay an invincible summer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22251175) by [feyrelay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feyrelay/pseuds/feyrelay). 



If this is what it is to be beloved, Oliver thinks he might be rather good at it.

He also thinks, hazily, as his world is narrowed to one point of penetration, to just that and Elio’s hands—one each at his waist and the crook of his shoulder—that Elio is a better man than him, to have experienced this level of intimacy and then been spurned, and survived.

(How do you literally allow someone to put their body into your body, to make a vessel out of you for their most fragile and private self, and then… What? Just let them go?)

Before Oliver knows it, he is crying. Not sobbing, but just feeling. He feels it all, all at once. It is a kind of fullness, yes. That, he expected.

"What's wrong?" asks Elio anxiously. Tenderly. Oliver can't tell anymore. It might be both. 

"No one ever told me it was like this," Oliver pants.

Elio pushes a bit of sweaty hair away from Oliver's face. He is fully inside now, having gone slowly and carefully. He palms over Oliver's waist, at the muscle and definition there. "I take it back, Oliver. I am no Patroclus. I'm whoever Adonis was stuck on. You know that one, I guess?"

"Aphrodite," Oliver manages, charmed by the compliment. He absolutely doesn't mind the way Elio is lingering over his body, though he does wish he would _move._

Elio laughs even as he pulls out, a little breathless. "You're perfect, Oliver. Fuck, this is so good. I've never had much stamina so you'd better not laugh."

He continues rocking into Oliver's body, short and sharp motions that are at odds with the softness and pure desire Oliver feels radiating between them. Oliver wants to say he feels it in his throat, but it's nothing so aggressive, so destructive or choking. He feels it in his heart, maybe. "Fuck, hnh. Uh, uh, Elio. God-" 

"Yeah?" Elio asks him, a little smug, a little strained.

"Oh, absolutely."

It's plenty, but Oliver wants more. He lifts himself up on his elbows and grabs for Elio's mop of sweaty curls, tightening his grip involuntarily after a particularly praiseworthy thrust. He pulls the younger man into a bruising kiss, even as Elio uses his own wiry strength to pull Oliver onto his cock. 

"Keep doing that," he gasps into Elio's mouth, lips sliding haphazardly at the upset as Oliver tilts his head back and _feels._ It's so fucking good. It shocks Oliver into tightening down, reacting to Elio's rhythm with every muscle he can spare. 

"Dunno if I can," Elio mutters, gasping himself at the clutching contraction. He sounds mainly overwhelmed. "S'too good."

"I'll help you," Oliver decides. He levers himself even further up, disrupting Elio's work to scramble into the younger man's lap. Elio kneels on the bed and Oliver wraps around him like an octopus. Their momentary separation isn't the best feeling in the world, but when they coordinate to hold Elio steady so Oliver can grind down and seat himself again… that comes close. 

From there it's easy, like dancing, for Oliver to take over his own destruction. Elio braces himself with one hand behind him on the footboard. The other is caught up in a litany of touches: to Oliver's waist and back, up over his pectoral, around the back of his neck to pull his throat within range of Elio's shivering breaths. Then, lovingly, Elio finally takes Oliver's cock in hand, pressing it between their bellies.

Oliver groans, as if wounded. It is so, so _much._ "Both is… a lot. No wonder you have no stamina, hunh, _fuck-_ if this is the level of sensation you have to deal with."

Elio responds mostly by jacking him harder and tighter, his hand slick with a silky blend of precome and oil and sweat. Elio pauses on a downbeat, however briefly, to lick his own hand and add that to the mix, and Oliver groans about that too. 

"You're gonna kill me if you keep doing that," he warns, continuing his counter-rhythm. He keeps his balance with his hands roaming over Elio's neck and shoulders and crown of curls. It's not what he would want all the time, definitely not, but it's nice, finding a new way to take them both apart.

Oliver finds a good chunk of hair to hold onto and pulls a little, even as he continues his controlled drag along the cock inside him. Elio whines, raucously. "I know the feeling," he gasps. 

"I think we might need more lubricant," Oliver considers, trying anything to keep the blissful connection going; it feels too good to stop, even as his body screams for release.

"Fuck-" says Elio, eloquently. 

If this is what fucking feels like for Elio, then Oliver wants to make him feel like this all the time. He tells him as much. "So good, Elio. Perfect. When you come, I'm gonna lay you out and remind you how good this feels."

"You-" 

"Or later, or tomorrow," Oliver compromises. He gets into the fantasy, aided by the tight and clever way Elio continues to fist his cock for him, between them. "Maybe I'll wake you up like this, pull you into my lap and make love to you before you even wake up properly. Would that be okay?" 

Elio manages to stick a quick kiss to his collarbone before the fantasy hits him too and all he can do is pant. "Oliver, _please-"_

"Leave the oil on the table tonight," Oliver instructs. "I'll season you like a salad with your sweat for vinegar and finally get my taste while you're too sleepy to argue. I'll lick you open for me while you dream and rut against your pillow."

Elio upsets their balance and shoves Oliver back, long limbs allowing them the grace of staying connected, however shallowly. "Gonna come if you don't stop talking," he promises, even as he allows himself to be caught up in a rhythm again. In this position, he's pressing up against that spot inside Oliver without even trying. 

"Want you to," he tells him back. "Need you to. Come on, Oliver," he urges, saying his own name. 

Elio responds immediately, dropping his forehead. "Elio, Elio, Elio, Elio," he chants, because he is perfect. 

Oliver half-laughs, half-gasps at the way it makes his lover speed up. "Fucking hell on challah," he swears loudly. He touches himself desperately as Elio laughs back. He's leaking everywhere, almost there himself.

"I fucking love when you curse," Oliver is told, so he does it again. 

By the third desperate, low _'fuck'_ that leaves Oliver's mouth, Elio is shuddering and coming, spilling into him. Oliver holds him close and palms down his sweaty back, using his height and long arms to tuck his fingers into Elio's hole while he's still spurting.

The deep warmth of it and the way Elio grasps him almost bruisingly in retaliation surprise Oliver and it sneaks up on him. He makes a mess of both of them when his orgasm hits, a scant half-minute later.

"Bastard. Traitor. You like to hear yourself talk," Elio tells him when they can both talk again. 

"Apparently," he says before kissing Elio's brow, "you do too."

"Fuck you," Elio murmurs lovingly. It seems to be dredged up, brought up, from a deep well of forgiveness that Oliver can sense pooling and deepening between them. He settles.

"Been there, done that."


End file.
